April Maxey

Hand Job Academy isn’t the name of a school, although one imagines it would be over-subscribed if it was. It is the name of a porn site featuring a “shy” 19-year-old brunette. But, more important, it’s the name of one of the best rap groups you probably haven’t heard of—yet.

The Brooklyn-based trio consists of Claire Beaudreault, 33, Meg Skaff, 24, and Ashley, 27 (who asks that her last name not be used because she is a teacher).

They are better known to their fans as Ash Wednesday, Claire Bizna$$, and Uncle Meg (formerly Lil T), and they have been dropping wildly creative, infectious tracks since 2012.

From oral sex on the rag to boning a dead Twin Peaks Laura Palmer, no topic is too bizarre or taboo for Hand Job Academy to rap about in a delightfully foul-mouthed way.

Their tracks don’t exactly match what you’d expect looking at the women at first glance.

Meg has closely cropped light hair and thick-framed glasses, which make her look like the film student she once was (she still does video editing and directs all of Hand Job Academy’s music videos). Ashley is a tall, wispy blonde with long locks. Claire looks like a tattooed Betty Boop.

NPR describes Hand Job Academy as “nerdy queer rap.” That’s not really how I would describe the trio, especially since the group doesn’t identify with any specific sexual orientation (Ashley and Claire referenced former and current beaus, while Meg is engaged to female musician Sizzy Rocket.)

But their lyrics are jampacked with amazing pop cultural references and wildly intelligent rhymes, so if that makes them nerdy, I guess they are.

Still, the prime standout quality of Hand Job Academy is that the group is impossible to wedge into a single aesthetic identity.

Despite suggesting Variety, a coffee shop in the hipster capital of Williamsburg with French press coffee and a variety of kombucha, Hand Job Academy doesn’t have a particularly hipster aesthetic.

They’re not the typical Cristal in the club and Benz-driving rappers, either, but they’re certainly more edgy than indie.

Claire says she grew up loving West Coast rap, though she also spent part of her childhood in West Virginia, which is where Meg was born and raised. Ashley has a bit of an almost Southern lilt in her voice, though she’s from Connecticut. “I get my etiquette from Connecticut,” she says sarcastically.

***

Hand Job Academy’s collective persona also defies expectations. I didn’t know if I was going to get Kanye histrionics or Macklemore self-seriousness when I met them. I was wrong with both predictions.

Within seconds of meeting me, they treat me like I’ve known them for years. One of the women is going through her birth control and visa forms spilled out on a table, while another offers advice on how cutting carbs leads to fewer yeast infections.

Then again, one shouldn’t hold any expectations for a group with a name about handies, which I am dying to know how they came up with in the first place.

“Once upon a time, I was boning this dude, and I was at his house and I had to look up something for work,” Claire recalls. “I went to Safari and one of his top sites was a porn site called ‘Hand Job Academy.’ I told Ashley about it and we laughed and it kind of was a placeholder, but it stuck.”

Overall, the women think the name has helped them out, though not without some drawbacks. “A lot of people book us for it because it’s funny and they want comedy, but hopefully, eventually, it becomes transparent [that we’re not about sex jokes] so people aren’t like [lowered, dumb voice] ‘Haha, do you give hand jobs?’ like constantly they are,” Claire says with a bit of exasperation at this last part.

Ashley is less bothered by the jokey insinuations, or at least is pragmatic about them. “Laughing my way to the YouTube counts,” she says. “I just don’t even care what people do as long as they watch it or attend our shows.”

Hand Job Academy has around 1,300 Twitter followers and around 2,300 likes on Facebook. That’s nothing to snuff at, but one would think they’d have more of a following, especially since two of their songs have had 15 minutes of fame moments.

The first came in 2013 with “Shark Week,” perhaps the only and certainly the absolute best rap about menstruation. If space provided, I would reprint the entire lyrics, but a few brilliant favorites to acquaint you with the delights of Hand Job Academy:

Contemplate, don’t hate ’Cause I look like Sharon Tate Or a piece of rare steak When I masturbate

The lyrics aren’t for the faint of heart, and the music video would even make Germaine Greer, who encouraged women to drink their own menstrual blood, blush.

The campy, vulgar video featured Ashley and Claire in bridal dresses with bloodstains at the crotch, while Meg had (fake) blood deliciously dripping from her lips while she sat in a pool surrounded by dozens of women with white, bloodstained panties.

It instantly struck a chord with women who were frustrated with menstruation’s taboo status. “Shark Week” snagged props from New York’s The Cut, Jezebel, and Salon for its honest, funny, and sexual lyrics about surfing the crimson wave.

Hand Job Academy was graced by the Internet gods once again just over a year later in November 2014 when Lena Dunham discovered their song “Lena Dunham”—and Taylor Swift Instagrammed a video of the Girls star dancing to it.

Both brushes with Internet glory failed to launch Hand Job Academy into a state of permanent fame, but they could not be less perturbed about that. “You have to enjoy it while it’s happening because then it’s not happening. Then it dies down and you have that hangover,” says Claire.

***

All three live a double life with full-time professions outside of Hand Job Academy.

Meg studied film and video in college, which she initially considered her main artistic passion. Rapping with Hand Job Academy changed that.

“It’s just really crazy how it all kind of happen. I was real passionate about music, and it just came back. That’s what really makes me happy, not sitting down and editing videos,” she says, adding with a laugh. “I go to different jobs and I’m like, ‘How much you gonna pay me?’ because it’s about that MONEY.”

Claire is also involved in the visual arts, running her own nail art business.

Ironically, it also has a manual stimulation-related name, or at least did. “It used to be called Finger Blaster. I feel like it was passed up for a lot of corporate gigs, so I changed it to ManiClaire. You can only have so many handjobs and finger blasts,” she says with a laugh.

Although they have toured the U.S. and the U.K., are now fresh off of a SXSW performance, and have a web series in development with Noise Porn, Hand Job Academy still often gets more attention for being women rather than being rappers.

Interviewers ask the group about periods. “‘Tell us about feminism.’ ‘Tell us about being women,’ they say. They don’t ask about our influences,” Claire says.

Her comments allude to one of the challenges of Hand Job Academy’s demographics: The “novelty” factor can potentially obscure the music itself. “I think people maybe don’t take us as seriously because we are white and female,” says Meg.

***

When an audience thinks it’s getting Vanilla Ice with a vagina, it sets the women up to shatter expectations.

“I kind of like to blow minds. I like proving people wrong. I think it’s easier to impress people on a certain level,” Ashley says. Claire adds that she loves “when there are hardcore, hip-hop dudes, and they’re just in the back with their arms folded and then they go, ‘We thought that was going to be whack, but you guys fucking killed it.’”

They are inspired by an array of artists: Missy Eliot, Lana Del Ray, Bjork, Kim Gordon, Kanye West, and even Eminen, arguably one of the most misogynistic current rappers. “I hate that I love him,” says Claire. “Feminists love Eminem.”

The women are far from conventional feminists. “Bitch,” “ho,” “cunt,” “pussy” are bountiful in their lyrics. Hell, one of their tracks is called “Pus$y Chicken.” There’s as much, if not more, hostility toward women as men in their songs, and they make no bones about it.

Claire says she’s trying not to say “bitch” and “ho” as much—“I like fuckboy a lot now”—and Ashley says she’s trying to “cuss” less in songs because she doesn’t really swear in real life.

However, they aren’t too hung up on the language. “When I say ‘bitch’ or ‘ho,’ I don’t even go into the definition. It’s a rhythmic thing, and it’s part of my vocabulary,” says Meg.

Besides, it’s not as if Claire and Ashley try to curb her language. “It’s when I’m ripping on somebody, and I’ve got these two bitches eggin’ me on. That’s when the venom really does flow,” laughs Meg.